


In Their Own Stories

by KoboldKing



Category: Sentinels of the Multiverse (Card Game)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoboldKing/pseuds/KoboldKing
Summary: A collection of drabbles about the minds of the multiverse's most notorious villains. Notorious though they are, each is the hero in their own story...





	1. Chapter 1

Chaos.

It was a song that filled nature. The song of tooth and claw, of predator and prey. The spirit in the mountain had watched it for epochs now; eons.

Giant reptiles hunting each other down in primeval forests.

Bestial mammals fighting to the death in plains of ice and snow.

Men killing in cold blood for shiny metal.

It was chaos; the chaotic song that not only filled nature but _was_ nature. Its melody was violence. Its rhythm was agony.

It was _beautiful._

Stone rippled like sinew. Lava flowed like blood.

The song of nature would be sung again.


	2. Chapter 2

Wicked.

This stuff was awesome! She barely had to start moving before she started speeding up, the surroundings wizzing past in a blur. It took less than a minute to cross the whole freaking city!

Only _Meredith Stinson_ would declare this stuff _unusable._ That was a woman who didn't know value when she saw it.

_"ERROR—FRICTION LEVELS UNSUSTAINABLE. SHOCK DAMPENERS OVERLOADING."_

Pfft. Nice try, but Krystal Lee knew cool stuff when she saw it. There was more than one thing Stinson was going to regret losing.

She turned the shock dampeners up and started running.

What could go wrong?


	3. Chapter 3

Faith.

It was a powerful thing. It brought people from all walks of life together, singing and praising as one.

Singing and praising... for one.

The reverend raised his staff high, the golden cross at its end gleaming in the church candlelight. The people sang louder, spurred by the beauty and the spirit of the Lord. Faith was powerful. The psalms they sang _carried_ that power.

The reverend smiled, feeling the same surge of strength he had known time and time again throughout the years.

Thank God for the faithful; thank God for the easily flocked.

Thank God for idolatry.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Extinction.

A clawed hand shook uncontrollably, clutching the controls of an evil device with pale knuckles.

Thousands were dead already. They were a pitiful fraction of the genocide to come. But even the billions of corpses that lurked in the future were a pitiful fraction of the doomsday that _could_ be, that Tarogath fought desperately to prevent.

It was so close now. The oblivion that would snuff out this world like nothing. All its songs, all its history, all its wonder, gone to the uncaring void...

At least this way someone would remember it.

Tarogath wept, and pulled the trigger.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Power.

The people held the power! It was the people, the flesh and blood of society, who held the right to power. It was the _people,_ not a mere man, who had overthrown the monarchy and brought the glorious republic to Mother Russia.

There was only so much one man could do. This was the truth that Aleksandr Tsarev held close and dear to his heart.

And nowadays, to his _hearts._

One man was nothing next to the power of the people! And Aleksandr Tsarev was not one man; he _was_ the people.

Power to Aleksandr.

Power to the people!

 


	6. Chapter 6

Unmovable. Unstoppable.

"Are you listening to me?"

One fought for faith. The other for fun.

"I don't think you're listening."

Faith in Dawn. Fun in fire.

"Which is fair, 'cause I don't listen much either."

They were very different in some ways... or, most ways.

"Hope you're alert though. She can't be far."

Different as they were, they were halves of a pair.

"What kind of broad calls herself 'The Visionary' anyway? What is even _with_ the stupid names _'superheroes'_ call themselves... yeah, we get it, you're self righteous..."

They were Anvil and they were Hammer.

Their foes would fall.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Misshapen.

She could _hear_ them crying out to her. _Begging_ to be free. _Screaming_ to be released from their slavery.

Slavery as a bunker, guns and armor for a man who followed the orders of dumber men who hid from the fierceness of battle.

Slavery as a suit to keep the cold in, for keeping a miserable, putrid fleshy man alive past the accident that should have taken his life.

Slavery as the dancing, humiliated toys of a foolish, scatterbrained girl.

She hated them. The _metal_ hated them. They would pay for their crimes.

And the metal would be free.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Dawn.

It was the moment the world was reborn. When the warm sunlight flooded over the horizon, all darkness was drowned and only the bright, pure sunlight was allowed to rule the sky.

The moment that nature reaffirmed its intent and all the loathsome, skittering creatures of the night were forced to retreat.

Dawn Cohen was aptly named. She was more than a person.

Her birth was the coming of the dawn.

The moment that nature affirmed its vision of the future.

The moment that the days of the weak were numbered.

The moment a dark world finally saw light.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Nine.

Nine relics in an ancient tomb, waiting, patiently waiting.

Nine worthy bearers arrive to take them anew, guided by destiny and death.

Nine angry gods awaken in a new age, one that has nearly forgotten them.

Nine gods who barely remember their own names but remember the score they must settle.

Nine relics in nine sets of hands.

Nine fists clenched and raised to the sky, an oath long forgotten chanted fresh on nine tongues.

Nine pairs of eyes staring down the sun, not blinking, not faltering, not stopping to question their right.

Nine laughs as the sun falls.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Ownership.

A man who owns land is free. A man who owns many lands is a noble. A man who owns _enough_ lands is a king.

A man who owns kingdoms is an emperor. What is a man who owns empires? What of one who owns _worlds?_ Or of one who owns _species?_

What title could describe such a man? One who owns planets and every creature that ever crawled on their surfaces? One who reached into the dust and made new, better life, binding their genes to serve him?

No such title existed... 'Grand Warlord' would have to do.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Legacy.

A man was only as great as his legacy; what he affected on the world before he died. What did he leave behind? A better world, or weeping widows and orphans? Peace for his children or conflict for a new generation? If he did neither, had he ever really lived?

No.

So when the weeping orphan of Mordengrad looked up into the brightening moonlight, he knew he was in the right. Break the moon, break the _world,_ do anything but die forgotten while false heroes reaped praise and glory.

Better a legacy of lunacy than no legacy at all!

 


	12. Chapter 12

Calling.

_I can't bring myself to think I'm in the wrong when for the first time I feel so right._

_From the moment I put in on I felt the calling. Their calling. A thousand voices, a thousand caws, a thousand beaks to do with as I please._

_It was my calling._

_This real darkness, so different from the childish shadows I once chased. This real power, lifting me to the sky._

_I've been mocked, disregarded, scorned. Let them scorn me now!_

_For I have my calling. My calling to command and darken the skies._

_I will be scorned nevermore._

 


	13. Chapter 13

Trust.

A missing circuit _here._ A false alarm _there._ It was the tiniest things that could bring down titans, provided they trusted you. Death rays could singe capes, but broken trust stabbed hearts.

It was wrong. Oh, so wrong. They trusted her.

But then, Aminia had trusted them first. Where had that gotten her? Whimpering "They didn't save me" with her dying breath. Bleeding her way to new reality.

That's how she knew it hurt. That's how she knew it could break a spirit _and_ its mind. And she'd always been... resourceful.

They hadn't saved her.

She wouldn't spare them.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Groovy.

"That Greazer's one cool cat," they'd all say. "Don't mess with Greazer if you ain't cruisin' for a bruisin'!"

He hadn't actually heard them say that. But with his impeccable pompadour and the sweetest ride in the universe, how could they not?

'Course, being this gods-dang hip didn't pay the bills. Fortunately Greazer was a man of very particular skills. Such as: swing dancing, spaceship waxing, and aiming a proton packer.

Sometimes it hurt to be this hip. Well, hurt other people.

The _Pink Lady_ roared. He slicked back his hair.

Someone was about to dance with the daddy-o.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Legacy.

It stretched back generations. As long as a Legacy stood fast against the evils of the world, all could rest easy. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness were worth fighting for.

His daughter fought for them. She'd paid the price.

He'd cradled her. He'd wept.

He'd snapped the Baron's fragile spine where it stood.

Now what legacy would the world look back on? Would there even be a world?

His fist tightened. There was iron in his grip.

Tyler Vance choked, crumpled metal lying around him.

He finished him.

Better an iron legacy than no legacy at all.

 


End file.
